Daybreak
by Valkerie
Summary: Caelyn Hollyn  spends most afternoons watching a virtuoso guitarist practice in a soundproofed room.  She knows that she fancies him, but doesn't have a chance.  But Caelyn has a secret, which leads to a heartpounding encounter in an alley.
1. Introduction

I sat on one of the benches with my guitar beside me, sipping coffee, watching him play. The room was soundproofed, of course, so I heard nothing. But I could see, see the way he played with his eyes closed and his thick brows furrowed, the way he swayed in time, lips moving in indecipherable code; words to a song, or counts to keep time. I could see his hands, fine-boned and strong, dance with an agility that spoke of years and years of dedicated practice. It was like the music was flowing out of him and through the guitar, like he was channeling some ancient, magical, musical wonder.

I was envious. As much as I loved music, and as long as I'd been at it, I had never reached that kind of balance. I just couldn't find that perfect place where the music was myself. I played other people's music. I could tell from watching that this man played his own.

I took another drink. The blonde man ceased his playing, his emerald eyes opening to once more survey the world around him. With surprising grace, he exited the practice room, crossing the lobby to where his gear had been tossed against the wall. He was dressed in a black-and-white tee-shirt and a pair of jeans with black combat boots. His nails were painted black, and he wore a checkered band around one wrist, a band bearing the UK flag on the other. His guitar also sported a vibrant Union Jack. As he packed up his guitar, I finished my now cool coffee.

I had been coming here for a few weeks now, finding some excuse to stay late. I always sat in the same spot, watching the blonde man play. He hadn't noticed me, hadn't once even appeared to see me. He always walked in and out of the glass-windowed room, eyes straight ahead, never turning.

As soon as he left the building, I stood, dumping my empty styrofoam cup in the trash bin. I shouldered my guitar, adjusted my hat, and walked out the door. I followed the familiar sidewalks, counting my steps. Soon I reached my apartment, ascending four flights of stairs until I finally collapsed through my front door. I immediately made more coffee, glad to be back to my own favorite brand.

I plopped down in a chair, picking up a purpleish book with a CGI depiction of a wormhole on the cover. I opened it at random, to a section about telekinesis. Good, I liked this part. I read about a computer that had been invented for quadrapalegics. They were hooked to the computer with electrodes, and their brainwaves controlled robotic arms and things. It sort of gave them mobility. It was fascinating, even though I'd read it about three hundred times. I really loved this book.

But I didn't have time today. Sighing, I set the book down on a pile of other books, on top of a crowded, dusty table. Off of the same table, I pulled an enormous textbook that I'd purchased from a local bookstore. Taking calculus a year early might have been a bit much for me, even being the nerd that I was. Then again, I could pull more all-nighters in a row than anyone else I knew... Even so, it was mind-breakingly difficult. Of course, I had a textbook from school, but I didn't like the way it explained things. If I had to rely on my school-issue book, I would surely be failing.

After I'd spent a couple of hours on calculus homework, I launched into AP biology, which was considerably easier.

By one o'clock in the morning, I'd done I'd done five-and a half hours of homwork, and spent the rest doing random research, much of it in preparation for next year's classes. Oh, and I'd also drunk about thirty thousand cups of coffee. Delicious, that stuff.

Finally, I shut down my laptop and pushed some dozen or so books off of my tiny bed. I made sure the blackout curtains were secured, and I crawled under my blanket (shades of soft forest greys, greens, and blues, with wolves and trees) and my sheets (top one grey, bottom one a nice mossy green). I sighed and settled down into the warth of my bed.

As always in the quiet moments, my thoughts turned to him. The blonde man in the rehearsal building, who played with such easy beauty in his movements, and I was sure, in his music. I didn't even know his name, but I did know that I fancied him. I'm not going to lie, he was pretty handsome, and anyone who can play the guitar like that is already in my good books.

Not that I thought I had a chance. Oh, no. There were too many things abput me that people just didn't like. I was someone that everyone else naturally avoided. Which was perfectly understandable, considering. Someone like him was proabably used to girls chasing after him.

I wasn't that type. I didn't chase, just watched. I wasn't creepy about it. But I did like to see him. Hence the daily hanging late at the rehearsal building.

I turned over onto my side, facing the windows. I closed my muddy brown eyes and pictured his. Deep, shimmering emeralds, they were, bright and beautiful, just like the rest of him.

I imagined myself actually going up to him, asking his name. Asking if maybe he'd fancy a coffee, or a bagel or a sandwich or something. I'd proably stutter, stumble over my words. I rolled over again, onto my back, sticking my arms behind my head on the pillow. I turned words over in my mind, feeling them, tasting them. I began to sing quietly, under my breath.

_Everyday in the shadows, yeah,_

_That one's me._

_The one who watches, always sitting_

_In the same place,_

_The same sparrow in the same tree._

_Invisible._

_I cling to you,_

_Stranger who is stranger than yourself._

_I am no stronger than myself._

Irritated, I shook my head. That sucked! It was stupid, and- and- pathetic. I didn't cling to anyone! Rolling over one more time, I finally allowed my mind to quiet, letting the darkness of sleep take me. As always, I did not dream.


	2. Hunger

**Hey, guys, guess what? I just got my first flame! Strangely, this has made me all sorts of happy. I am now a real author! Here, have cookies everyone! But be careful, because they were baked by our own dear Iggy-san. **

**Iggy-san: Shut up, you git.**

**Me: *throws cookies at all of you***

**But on another note, I may abandon this story soon. I don't have much of a plot at the moment. I'm terribly afraid that England is going to be very OOC, in which case I am a failing failure. Also, I have a terrible fear that dear Caelyn is going to turn out to be the worst kind of Mary-Sue.  
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My alarm clock nearly split my brain in two. I shot out an arm, turning off the shrill scream with a click. I tossed the blankets back, rising from the bed. It was dark, very dark, but I could see fairly well.

It was 3:30 a.m. Two-and-a-half hours of sleep. Perfect. Smiling in the darkness, I grabbed a ratty black jacket from the back of my chair. I'd gone to sleep in my black geometric-patterned pants and grey tee shirt. I didn't bother to brush my hair, just pulled the hood over my head. I slipped on my black trainers and pushed out of the door, hurrying downstairs and into the outside world.

Once I hit the pavement, I fell immediately into the rhythm of the night. The air was cool and humid, carrying the scents of streets and people and cars and promised rain into my waiting nostrils. My brain analyzed the miasma of smells, separating and isolating each specific scent, telling me exactly where everything was. My ears did the same thing with the maze of sound waves bouncing around.

I wove through my own sleeping street, exiting onto another, then another, wading into progressively more populated areas. In the soft clash of city lights and nighttime darkness, I found a line of people waiting in front of a shop. The owner was yelling something at them, but I didn't wait to hear what he was saying. Instead, I walked up to a young woman who wore a concerned expression and was sifting through her purse, murmuring to herself.

"Excuse me, ma'am." I said, catching her arm. She looked up at me, making an "Mm?" noise. I held her gaze, continuing, "Do you think you could come with me for a second? I want to show you something." At her hesitation, I added, "It's important. Please." She nodded, her eyes now slightly glazed, and I pulled her out of the line and away from the people.

I led her down a dark alley, ducking behind a building, where she looked around expectantly, looking slightly bewildered. I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. Once more I held her eyes. "You will forget this," I commanded, before pulling back the collar of her coat and sinking my fangs into the soft skin of her neck. She twitched once, twice, and then fell limp.

I savored the feeling of her splitting skin, of the flesh beneath, of the warm, sweet blood that filled my mouth and rolled down my throat as I drank. I could feel her energy, her life pouring into me, her rich crimson nectar flooding me with new strength. I cradled the woman in my arms, making sure she did not fall. As always, it was difficult to stop, so easy to stay, to take just a little more- but I stopped when the time came. I didn't want her to die, after all. Growling softly, I raised my head, licking the last of the blood from her skin, from my lips.

I laid her gently on the ground, smoothing her hair and wiping one last smear of blood from her collarbone and shoulder. I sucked the liquid form my finger as I stood, raising my eyes to see- another pair of eyes staring straight at me. Brilliant emerald green, set in a pale face framed by short blond hair, the orbs were wide with shock, and they held me for a long moment.

Then I was running, the owner of the eyes pursuing me. I fled deeper into the maze of alleys, through darker and dodgier streets, his footsteps ever close behind me. I knew who it was, who those eyes belonged to.

Suddenly I tripped over something that felt like a crate. The blond man fell on top of me, grabbing fistfuls of my jacket and my hair in the process. Scrabbling for a hold on the ground, I rolled over and heaved upward, putting him on bottom. He let go and scrambled out from under me, crouching and breathing hard.

"Why- what-" he began hoarsely. But I was on my feet in an instant, and had him pinned against the wall in another. I locked his eyes with mine, saturating my voice with persuasion.

"You will forget about this," I murmured, but to my surprise, the man's eyes did not glaze.

"You're the girl from the rehearsal building," he demanded. I didn't answer. He continued, "I see you every day. You're always there."

I gritted my teeth. So soon after feeding, the pulse in the man's neck made every fibre in my body ache to take his blood, right then and there. It took an enormous effort to stave off the hunger for long enough to speak. "You won't ever see me again, I promise you that. Since I can't make you forget, I want you to go, now, and never breathe a word. I will disappear, I'll be gone, you'll never have to worry about me again. And I'll tell you now: I never kill."

By now he was breathing a bit more easily. It was hard not to stare at his throat, at his still-heaving chest. If I hadn't just finished feeding, I'm sure I would have been feeling another sort of urge right at that moment. Instead of biting him like I so desperately wanted to, I let him go. He was free now. Free to run, free to forget. But he didn't.

"You're telling the truth," he stated. "You put her down you could take enough blood to kill her. Her breathing was steady." His thick brows furrowed. "Who are you?"

_Bloody hell. Why is he not afraid? Why is he not running, or at least fighting?_ Out loud, I said, "I'm no one you need to know. Now go."

He stood his ground, rising to his full height and advancing, causing me to take a step back. I realized that, just like that, he had gained both the psychological and the physical advantage. I mentally cursed him for forcing me to show submission so easily.

He grasped both of my wrists, leaning his face close to mine, until I noticed the alcohol strong on his breath. He rasped, "You tell me your secret, and I'll tell you mine."


	3. Acquaintance

I squeezed my eyes shut. I stopped breathing, because the smell of his skin was just making it worse. The beast inside me was raging now, no longer sated by the small amount of blood I had taken from the woman. The pain was horrible.

"Let me go," I managed. He didn't move. I lunged at him, teeth bared, snarling. "Let me go!"

He backed away, stunned and wary.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm still hungry."

He nodded. "Well," he said. "So then you are one. A vampire, I mean."

"Yeah." I was tense, both from the pain, and in anticipation of any attack he might make.

He grinned. "I'm a country."

"No way in hell. That's utterly ridiculous." I shot back. This guy must be way more drunk than I'd thought.

"Want me to prove it to you?" his smirk grew wider, and he pulled a gun from inside his jacket. I cried out as he shoved it against his temple and fired.

There was a tremendous noise, and the smell of blood filled the air and left me reeling. The world was gone for a moment, lost in a haze of red, my senses overloaded and shocked into temporary shutdown. When my vision cleared again, the blond man was still smiling at me. Blood dripped down both sides of his face, matting his thick hair, turning his skin into a glistening watercolor as it streamed down his cheeks. Before I could stop myself, I was clutching him tight, ravenously licking the blood from his face and hair. He froze for a moment, before violently pushing me away.

"Bloody hell!" He shouted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Panting, I cleaned the blood from my lips and chin. "I'm sorry."

He looked thoughful. "It was hard for you to put her down, wasn't it."

"You think?" I spat. "But never mind that. You just fucking shot yourself in the head. I'm a vampire; what in Hell's blazes are you?"

He laughed. "I told you, I'm a country. The United Kingdom of Great Britian and Northern Ireland, pleased to make your aqcuaintence." He stuck out his hand. I did nothing. He continued, "My name is Arthur Kirkland."

I grimaced. "The physical representation of my nation is a punk?"

"Only recently," he answered. "It happens sometimes, for a few weeks at a time."

It was quiet for a moment, until I ventured, "Are you sure you're alright, Mr. Kirkland... sir...?"

Now it was his turn to grimace. "Yeah. But now I'm covered in blood. In hindsight, I don't think that was the best idea."

A thought stuck me, and, attempting to repress the beast inside me, I looked up and down the alley. "Someone will have heard that shot. We need to get out of here, now. Do you have a car?"

"No, I walked here. Do you?"

Instead of answering, I took off my jacket and forced him into it, pulling the hood over his head. I took his jacket and wore it myself. I grasped his hand and ran. We wove throught the streets like lab rats through a maze. He didn't protest, just followed. I brought him to my apartment building, leading him inside, up the stairs, and into my one-room. When we were safely inside, I bolted the door behind us. "Shit," I remarked.

We both removed our jackets. I took mine from him, tossing it with his on the back of my chair. He gingerly felt the back of his head. "Stuff will grow back soon," he said. "I just gotta clean up."

"Sure," I answered. Just... just a second." My voice was tight. My hands were balled into fists, my breathing harsh, all of my muscles tense. It only got worse as I felt him come silently up behind me. He asked me if I was alright, but I didn't say anything. I was trying my hardest to stay in control, but I hadn't fed in days, besides the woman, and she hadn't been nearly enough. I'd been planning to stay out all night. It was so hard, so hard-

But I didn't snap. "Here," I offered, going into the bathroom and soaking a towel in cold water from the sink. "I'll help you." I took his arm, sitting him down in the armchair. I dabbed the towel at the blood that caked his head. Soon, his his hair and skin were free of the thick stain. It looked as though he was already healing. My own veins were burning.

I left to soak the towel in peroxide in the bathtub, returning to find him looking at me strangely. My throat was on fire. I felt ashamed; I looked away.

At the sound of his voice, I returned my gaze to him. He was holding up his arm, the checkered cuff pulled back, baring the white skin of his wrist. His words surprised me greatly. "If you still need to... feed," he began, "Then you may do so from me. Take as much as you require; it won't hurt me." His voice quavered a little, but it was sincere. "You look like you're in pain," he finished softly.

"I can't," I said. "I've already-"

"Take it," he interrupted. "If you need it, take it."

I stared at the proffered wrist. The skin glistened a pale white, the veins blue and pulsing beneath. I could smell, feel the vitality in this apparently indestructible human body, and I wanted it, needed it. Every muscle in my body quaked, yearning for blood. It had been too long since I'd had _enough_- I wrapped my hands around his forearm, pulling back my lips and once more sinking my fangs into soft, sweet flesh. I let go. I drowned myelf in it, in the wonderful euphoria of knowing I could take as much as I needed, just this once.


End file.
